


Chain Link

by jaybear1701



Category: Motherland: Fort Salem (TV)
Genre: F/F, look i just wanna write raylla pining for each other okay?!, lovers to exes to friends to ???, post-season 1 spec
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:00:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24374674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaybear1701/pseuds/jaybear1701
Summary: Raelle and Scylla share a deep connection, but the road back to each other will be far from easy.
Relationships: Raelle Collar/Scylla Ramshorn
Comments: 218
Kudos: 425





	1. Chapter 1

The blast came out of nowhere.

It nearly blinded Raelle, who felt the rumble of the deafening explosion even from her perch on a wooded hill, dozens of meters away from the Camarilla’s latest massacre. Or what was left of it. 

“Holy...” Abigail shot to her feet from where she had been crouched. “What the hell was that?”

Swiping at her eyes, Raelle shook her head to get rid of the spots in her vision and the cottony ringing in her ears. “Pretty sure that was a bomb.”

“No shit, shitbird.” Abigail rolled her eyes.

“Quiet,” Tally hushed them both with an outstretched hand, brows knit in concentration as she surveyed the distant landscape awash in flame and smoke. Despite the return of her youth, the commanding presence of General Alder remained in Tally’s steadfast demeanor. “Someone’s alive. They’re hurt, though.”

“Who?” Abigail asked.

“I don’t know. A witch. Not one of ours.” 

That only meant one thing. _The Spree._ Every muscle in Raelle’s body tensed. She hated the way Abigail and Tally looked at her with a mixture of trepidation and pity ever since they learned her mom was Spree.

“Any enemies?” Raelle asked through grit teeth, heart beginning to pound whenever she thought about her mother and her deception. She forced herself to banish that line of thinking. The less she thought of her mom and her… associates... the better. 

“You mean besides--” Tally stopped short at Raelle’s glare. “No humans. The Camarilla are long gone.”

Raelle wiped away sweat from her forehead with the back of her gloved hand before pulling up the black hood of her combat uniform. “We have to help them.” 

“What? Raelle, no.” Abigail blocked her path, frown firmly set. “We’re here for reconnaissance only. Not…”

“I’m not letting any more witches die at the hands of these murderers.” Raelle moved around her. 

“We should at least wait for backup.”

“Stay if you want, Bells,” Raelle said over her shoulder. They couldn’t afford to wait for the other units. 

“Dammit.”

Despite Abigail’s curse, Raelle could hear their footsteps behind her. Where one went, the unit followed. They proceeded cautiously down the hill and across a barren field, toward the site where the Camarilla had left the bodies of dozens of executed Spree. As they approached, the bomb’s fallout exacerbated the already sweltering heat of summer. Raelle’s gut twisted at the stench of burnt flesh and she stifled a gag. 

“Tal?” Abigail’s eyes scanned the edge of the forest, scourge gripped and at the ready.

“All clear.” Tally squinted before pointing to the west of the blast site. “There’s someone over there.”

In the shimmering haze of the fire, Raelle could make out the form of a witch crawling away, slow and pained. She collapsed in the grass, and Raelle rushed to her side, crouching on one knee. 

“Hey, are you okay?” She asked as she gently turned the woman onto her back. Soot matted strawberry blonde hair that clung to her forehead. Angry blisters covered patches of exposed skin on her face and hands.The woman’s breath shuddered as she stared up at Raelle, dark eyes glossy and unfocused. “Stay with me now.”

Raelle gently laid her hands over the woman’s chest and closed her eyes. She inhaled and exhaled, matching the rhythm of their breaths to forge a connection. _“To her that knocketh, it shall be opened.”_ She felt it then. A cold fear. Sharp pain. But she pushed forward. _“Power and glory. Forever and--”_

Burnt hands slapped her away, breaking the link. 

“No,” the woman groaned weakly. 

“Please, I’m trying to help.” Raelle tried to place her hands back in position, but was once again slapped away.

The woman shook her head. “No,” she protested, a hint of what could only be described as panic in her voice. “No.” 

“What’s going on?” Abigail knelt on the other side of the Spree. 

“I dunno.” Raelle shrugged helplessly. “She won’t let me heal her.”

Tally inhaled sharply and stiffened next to Raelle. “Goddess protect…”

The temperature dropped suddenly, heat overtaken by a chill in the wind. Almost instantly, the nearby fires died down and disappeared. A sheen of frost glazed over the carnage. The other units had arrived, landing from the above and led by Sergeant Quartermaine, her mouth set in a grim, thin line.

“Bellweather,” Anacostia barked out when her feet touched the ground, eyes still glowing from Salva as the other soldiers fanned out to set a perimeter. “Status report.”

“The site is secure, ma’am.” Abigail stood at attention. “One survivor.”

“Survivor?” Anacostia followed Abigail’s gaze to the witch on the ground who was still struggling to escape from Raelle. She breathed out, nostrils flaring, and approached. “Stand down, Private.”

Raelle leaned back on her haunches. Confusion etched across her face as the Spree allowed Anacostia to grasp her wrists.

“Focus,” Anacostia ordered. “Breathe.” 

To Raelle’s surprise, and mild offense, the woman actually listened. She stopped fighting, eyes locked on Anacostia as their breathing synced. In and out, in and out. The burns melted away like snow, until nothing was left but healed skin. 

“Sergeant, that’s…” said Tally, sounding just as confused as Raelle felt.

“Not now, Craven.” Anacostia kept her focus on the Spree.

On a slow exhale of relief, the woman’s face relaxed and her eyes rolled back as she lost consciousness. 

“That’s what?” Raelle turned toward Tally as Abigail joined them and froze. Her stomach dropped as she glanced back at the unconscious woman, whose hair began to darken. Her appearance morphed into a face that had been haunting her for months.

Raelle’s heart stopped.

 _Scylla._

* * *

_“She’s gone.”_

_“Gone?” Raelle repeated numbly from her infirmary bed, propped up on pillows against a steel-frame headboard.  
_

_Abigail shifted on the next bunk over, but remained asleep. She had been knocked out since the last round of tests Colonel Wick had run since their return to Fort Salem. Alder had been nothing but insistent about enrolling them in War College, in exchange for being poked and prodded about their explosion of power in China.  
_

_“You mean like…” Raelle couldn’t bring herself to finish the thought.  
_

_“Escaped,” Anacostia said, stoic as always.  
_

_Raelle couldn’t stop the tears that pricked at the back of her eyes. “But…how?”  
_

_Clearing her throat, Anacostia’s gaze shifted toward the ground then back up. “Overpowered the guard before her transport.”  
_

_Silence stretched between them. Confusion and fear warred within Raelle, pressure building behind her ribs even as a frizzon of relief shot through her. Scylla wasn’t in prison. She was out there, somewhere.  
_

_“And no one knows if…” Raelle despised the way her voice trembled. “Is she…”  
_

_“Best not to dwell on it.” Anacostia placed a hand on Raelle’s shoulder. Squeezed. “I’m sorry, Collar. I thought you’d want to know.”  
_

_Dumbfounded, Raelle stared at her lap, fingers absently tracing the creases of her left palm._

* * *

The sun had set hours ago, but the night air remained muggy and difficult to breath. Humidity stuck to Raelle’s skin as she paced back and forth. She held a scry loosely in her right hand while on guard duty outside of a military safe house that, for all intents and purposes, looked like a run-of-the-mill cabin in the woods. She wasn’t quite sure what was worse: the stifling air or the cycle of shock, relief, and pain that warred inside her as she thought about who was on the other side of the door. 

_Scylla.  
_

Raelle had been in a daze since they carried her away from the blast site. She half wondered if she was stuck in one of her many dreams about Scylla; if she would bolt upward at any moment in a cold sweat of churning emotions. Forming a fist with her left hand, she dug her nails into her clammy skin until it hurt. 

She didn’t wake up.

The door swung open and Abigail stepped outside, grimacing at the heat. “How can you stand it out here?”

Raelle shrugged up one shoulder, feigning nonchalance “Someone’s gotta keep watch.”

“That someone doesn’t have to be you.” Abigail crossed her arms. “I’m here to relieve you.”

“Not necessary.” Raelle stopped with her back facing Abigail, lifting the blank scry up to scan the darkness for potential threats. She was still shit at knowing. Didn’t have the knack for it that Tally clearly had. But she was better than nothing.

“She’s coming to,” Abigail said. 

“And?”

“And?” Annoyance crept into Abigail’s voice. “You can’t stay out here forever.”

“Can’t I?”

Abigail huffed out, none too gently grasping Raelle by the shoulders and turning her around. “You’re gonna have to face her sometime.” 

“No, I really don’t.” Raelle knocked Abigail’s hands away, but managed not to kick at the dirt like a petulant child.

“You’re right. You don’t.” Abigail’s dark eyes bore into hers. “But you’ve gotta keep your head in the game. The longer you avoid dealing with your shit, Shitbird, the more you endanger the unit. I know you still...” 

Raelle broke eye contact, hating that Abigail was using the unit-unity card. Hated even more that there was no use denying her feelings about Scylla, not after their shared link. 

“Look, all I’m saying is you have a second shot to--”

“What, torture myself?” 

Abigail sighed. “Find peace.”

Raelle stared at the door, biting her tongue to keep herself in check. 

“I know it’s hard,” Abigail said sympathetically, detaching her own scry from her utility belt. “Rip the bandaid off.” 

Raelle knew Abigail was right, not that she would admit it out loud. With an imperceptible nod, she left Abigail to her post and approached the house, legs both weak and heavy. Her hand stilled on the knob, a wave of memories crashing into her of the last time she stood on one side of a door with Scylla on the other. For a passing moment, the dank malodor of the prison overpowered the sweet foliage of the forest. The chill of the cell overtook the warmth of summer. She remembered the sharpened edges of her words, and the way Scylla's face had crumbled as the cuts sliced deep. Raelle braced herself on the doorframe.

“You can do this, Rae,” Abigail called out softly.

Steeling herself, Raelle drew in a long breath until her lungs could expand no more, and opened the door before she lost her nerve.

Three pairs of eyes snapped toward her the moment she set food inside, but Raelle could only see blue. Deep as the ocean, the threat of a storm on the horizon. 

“Raelle,” Scylla greeted, politely. Neutral. As if merely acknowledging an old acquaintance. 

"Scylla." Her name nearly stuck in Raelle's suddenly parched throat. 

“Collar, shut the door.” Anacostia’s command snapped Raelle from her trance, and she did what she was told. She didn’t know what else to do with herself, so she crossed her arms to keep herself from shaking and stood to the side of the entryway, ignoring the concerned look that Tally shot her way as she handed a glass of water to Scylla. 

“The sooner you answer our questions, Ramshorn, the sooner you can leave,” said Anacostia, who sat on a nearby chair.

“Leave?” Tally asked, taking a seat on the opposite end of the couch where Scylla sat in tattered jeans and a charred t-shirt. “Isn’t she a," Tally's voice dropped to a whisper, "fugitive?”

One corner of Scylla's lips quirked up, fingers tracing the lip of the glass. Raelle tried not to stare, or think about how those same hands had pushed her away not too long ago.

“Our ceasefire with the Spree means we’re willing to overlook past," Anacostia tilted her head to the side, "transgressions.” She focused back on Scylla. "As long as our continued partnership proves beneficial."

Scylla took a long pull of water. "Sharing is caring, after all." She set the glass down on an end table. "Fire away."

"Why were you there?" Anacostia asked.

"Can't a girl enjoy a stroll through nature?"

Tally hopped on her cushion. "That's a lie!"

Scylla rolled her eyes. "Of course it's a lie." Tally frowned. "Stupid questions deserve stupid answers, my dear Knower."

Anacostia pinched the bridge of her nose. "Do you want to go or not? We can do this all night."

"I was there for the same reasons you were." Scylla pursed her lips. "To investigate the massacre."

"And?" Anacostia prompted when Scylla failed to elaborate.

"And it was a trap," Scylla finished, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. 

"What caused the explosion?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Sergeant." Scylla looked everywhere but at Raelle as she spoke. "It's clear the Camarilla have some new tricks up their sleeves."

Anacostia glanced at Tally, who inclined her head forward. "And the others?"

"Others?"

"You're telling me the Spree sent only one Necro--"

"One brilliant Necro," Scylla interrupted with a devilish smile. 

If looks could kill, Anacostia's would have incinerated Scylla on the spot. "One Necro into a hostile situation. I thought the Spree protected their own."

Scylla's smile faded slightly, gaze sliding toward Raelle, who froze. More Spree? Her heart skipped a beat. Had her mom been there?

Scylla turned her attention back to Anacostia. "They would have dispersed the moment they heard the Bats, ceasefire or not." One eyebrow arched up. "Can you blame them?" 

Anacostia's eyes narrowed. "I suppose not." She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees. "You're free to go, Ramshorn."

"Well then," Scylla clapped her thighs with a grin that didn't quite reach her eyes. "It's been a pleasure, ladies." She rose to her feet.

"Wait, you're going?" Tally shot up, too, glancing helplessly at Raelle, whose pulse spiked at the thought of Scylla walking out the door. "Now?"

"No time like the present, Private.” Scylla smiled.

"But what if they're still out there?" Tally waved at the door. "Wouldn't it be safer to wait until morning?"

The same thought had crossed Raelle’s mind, even as she tried to tamp down the anxiety that swelled in her chest. 

"As much as I wish it were so, the Camarilla don't dissolve in the sun," Scylla pointed out. "Besides, it's me they should be worried about." 

A beat passed between Anacostia and Scylla and, against all odds, the drill sergeant cracked a nearly imperceptible smile. Raelle almost had to do a double take. "Get outta here before I change my mind." 

Scylla gave an irreverent salute. "Yes, ma'am." She nodded at Tally and made her way to the exit, avoiding eye contact with Raelle as she approached the door. Almost against her will, Raelle reached out and grabbed the doorknob before Scylla could, surprising them both. 

Blue linked with blue.

Although she could feel the intensity of Anacostia and Tally’s stares, Ralle couldn’t focus on anything but the blood rushing in her ears, and just how beautiful Scylla was despite being covered in grime. It hurt to look at her. Raelle held her breath, somehow managing to keep every single one of her muscles still even though it felt like the ground was bottoming out beneath her.

There were so many things she wanted to tell Scylla. Should tell her. Yet nothing came. Everything left unsaid was bottlenecked between them.

“Raelle,” Scylla breathed out. 

It was enough to break their standstill. Raelle twisted the knob and pulled the door open. She had to let her go. 

When Scylla walked past, it took all of Raelle’s willpower not to reach out and pull her close. She didn’t have that right any more, that option long dead and buried. Just like she had wanted.

But still. She was weak. “Scyl,” she called out instead, giving in. She couldn’t help it.

Scylla paused. 

“I’m glad you’re…” Raelle swallowed, hard, throat constricting. Not locked up? Not dead? Inadequate words failed her.

Scylla looked over her shoulder, a small, sad smile on her lips. “Me too.”

Then she was gone, disappearing into the darkness of the night. 

And Raelle, rooted to the spot, was left with nothing but a piercing emptiness in her wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Throwing my hat into the ring of post-season 1 stories with what I personally would love to see between Raelle and Scylla.


	2. Chapter 2

The sun was breaking over the horizon by the time Scylla made it back to Penelope Road, hitching rides from civilians persuaded by a little bit of Work. She could picture Anacostia’s stern eye of disapproval, if she ever found out about Scylla’s extracurricular activities. But necessity knew no law, and the sooner she got back to the safe house, the better. There, she could at least take a shower and get a modicum of rest. Or at least she hoped. **  
**

After everything Scylla had seen in the last 24 hours, she had no doubt that the massacre would besiege her dreams the minute she fell asleep. Even now, she couldn’t rid herself of the memory of her brother and sister witches with their vocal cord viciously ripped from their throats, their bodies perversely arranged in a mock pentagram. She clung to the anger that seared in her gut, a longstanding companion that perversely comforted her, in some ways. 

It kept her focused on the mission, and not other… _distractions_.

Distractions with blonde hair and sky blue eyes.

There were more important things, Scylla told herself. Like eliminating their enemies. And maybe, finally securing the freedom she and countless others had already sacrificed their souls for.

Red-eyed and exhausted, she stepped off a bus a block away from Willa Collar’s home base tucked away in a sleepy residential sidestreet bathed in morning light. Her burnt attire drew a few curious stares from the neighbors. But for the most part they minded their own business, too engrossed in their routines and absent-minded goodbyes. 

Scylla proceeded down the concrete sidewalk, past a wrought-iron fence, and up the path toward the unassuming bungalow with bright yellow siding. Swiping a finger along the front door’s knob, she drew a complicated sigil to unlock it and step inside. To her great relief, no one was in the living room. A debrief was the last thing she needed right now. 

But as soon as she grasped the banister of the staircase, a resident appeared at the top of the steps--the same young woman who had been guarding the safe house when Scylla first arrived months ago.

“She wants to see you,” Cassidy said, bleary-eyed, long brown hair tangled from sleep.

Scylla let out a frustrated sigh. “What, now?” 

Cassidy merely shrugged, like, tough shit. 

Closing her eyes briefly, she cursed under her breath, knowing she shouldn’t shoot the messenger, no matter how tempting. “Where is she then?” 

“Out back.” Yawning, Cassidy was already turning around to go back to her room. “Don’t keep her waiting.”

Scylla toyed with ignoring the order all together and going up anyway. But it was best to just get it over with. She made her way through the house and out the back entrance, past a small garden and a hammock, toward a studio that Willa would disappear inside, sometimes for hours at a time. 

She rapped her knuckles against the door, waiting until she heard, “Enter,” before pushing it open. Inside, Willa stood by a makeshift war table strewn with maps, books, and scrolls. She faced a wall covered in mirrors of all shapes and sizes, a few reflecting the silhouettes of other cell leaders. Scylla propped herself against a wall, hands tucked into her pockets, not wanting to call attention to herself.

“ _This atrocity cannot go unanswered_ ,” one of them said, its deep voice distorted. “We must retaliate.”

A part of Scylla strongly agreed, with the slaughter still so fresh in her mind. _Blood for blood._ But she remained silent as she regarded Willa. 

“Our truce with Alder is… tenuous… at best,” Willa said in her southern drawl, arms crossed and head held high. “We must not jeopardize it with an attack on civilians.”

“ _Your truce_ ,” a different Spree chimed in from an oval mirror. “ _Not ours._ ”

Willa’s jaw clenched. “It’d be beneficial for us all to avoid a two-front war with the Camarilla and the military. Our time for revenge will come, but not at the expense of our path to freedom.”

The glassy shadows shimmered in their frames, but none contradicted her. “ _We shall not be denied vengeance for long_ ,” another said before they disappeared entirely, leaving Willa and Scylla alone. 

Turning and eyeing Scylla’s disheveled appearance, Willa waved her to one of the empty chairs around the table. “Took you long enough.”

“Why, I’m just peachy, thanks for asking,” Scylla said as she sat down.

Willa looked far from amused. “I thought I told you to be careful.”

“I was careful.” Scylla smiled wryly. “I’d be dead otherwise. Not that any of you thought to check.”

“You know very well we couldn’t stay.” Willa leaned a hip against the table. “And the Camarilla?”

“Experimenting.” Scylla could still feel the distortion around the site, the resonance of death corrupted by whatever bastardized Seeds the humans had concocted. “Turning our bombs against us.” 

“Our intelligence indicates Fort Salem is researching a new weapon, as well.” 

“Good for them.”

“Involving my daughter.”

Scylla used whatever energy she had left to keep herself from reacting. Raelle was still very much a sore spot for them both, no matter how much Scylla tried to put Raelle behind her. It was a constant source of heartache that had flared up like a livewire when she saw Raelle again up close and felt her touch, however fleeting.

“I see.” Hesitating, she took a deep breath and added against her better judgment: “She was there. Yesterday.” 

Willa lowered herself into her own seat, brow wrinkling before it smoothed out in a neutral expression. “How was she?”

Beautiful, Scylla thought. Fierce. Still so full of good and light, despite everything. “As well as can be expected,” Scylla said. 

“Did she say anything?”

“She didn’t say anything at all.” It wasn’t a lie, exactly. 

Willa said nothing as she absently shuffled papers on the table, poorly hiding that Raelle’s rejection was still an open wound for her as it was for Scylla. “We need to bring that girl ‘round.”

Scylla shook her head. “How? She wants nothing to do with us.” And with good reason, her mind whispered.

“Go to her.”

A humorless laugh escaped from Scylla. “What, am I supposed to just waltz back into Fort Salem and convince her?”

“Yes,” Willa said simply.

Scylla stared at Willa for several long, unbelieving moments. “You can’t be serious.”

“Serious as a heart attack.” Willa held out her palm and whispered a few words until a piece of parchment appeared. “As part of our new Accord with Alder, we’ll teach them some of our Work.”

She placed the document on the table and slid it toward Scylla, who could barely read its text through the crimson haze that filled her vision. But she definitely could see the glow of Willa’s signature as well as Alder’s. Incensed, Scylla snatched it up and tore it in half, throwing it back at Willa.

“Have you lost your mind?” Heat skyrocketed in her chest, faster than mercury on a scorching day. “They killed my parents and Goddess knows how many others. Nearly killed you.” _And Raelle._ “Why would we give them our Work?” 

Willa only regarded her with the same, infuriatingly calm expression she always wore. “Are you finished?” The two pieces fused back into one, as if Scylla’s tantrum had never happened. “In exchange, the Army will stop hunting Dodgers. Pardon our cell. They’ll even let you finish your training.”

It sounded too good to be true. Because it probably was. “Don’t you think this is something I should have known about before you signed a deal with the devil?” 

“You know about it now.”

“Unbelievable.” Scylla shoved herself away from the table and stood. “You’ve already burned me with the military. And with Raelle.” Her nostrils flared as she stared Willa down, heart racing, breath harsh. “What makes you think I’d let you do that to me again?” 

“I’m doing what I think is best.”

“And that’s worked out so well for you, right?” Scylla spun around to leave, knowing full well she’d do something she’d regret if she stayed any longer. Made it halfway to the door when she felt Willa grasp her wrist in a tight grip. She was half a second away from throwing wind, burning one last bridge that would forever strand her into an existence of hiding.

But she stopped short when she saw the flash of pain in Willa’s blue eyes. “Please.” Willa’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I need my daughter back.” She scanned Scylla’s face, searching for something Scylla wasn’t even sure she could give. “You do too.”

“I don’t need anyone,” Scylla spat back, snapping her hand away. She almost believed the lie. 

Willa’s arms fell to her sides. “Then think about the good that’s still left to do. That we could all do. Together. As a family.” 

Her gaze was as piercing as Raelle’s, blinding like the sky on a cloudless day. 

Scylla, eyes stinging, had to look away. 

* * *

_Holding onto the good wasn’t easy when the best part of you was gone._

_The crowd inside the train station bustled around the double-sided bench where Scylla sat. The din of conversations and rolling luggage echoed inside the cavernous atrium and its arched glass ceilings. People came and went, with no clue about the war being waged; sheeple unaware of the bloodthirsty wolves in their flock. A small part of Scylla pitied them for their blissful ignorance and mundane lives. But that was eclipsed by a sadness so intense it left Scylla breathless. Because she would never have what they had._

_She clenched her fists in her lap, allowing herself a fleeting moment to daydream about what it would be like to leave all the death and destruction behind. Just blend into the crowd and disappear. She could do it and be free, for a while, before being hunted down by the Army or the Spree or the Camarilla. Go out in a foolish blaze of glory. Scylla chuckled to herself. That plan was hot garbage and she knew it. What was it she had said to Raelle their first night together? It’d be winning by losing. It felt like so many years ago._

_Scylla was so lost in her dark thoughts that she didn’t even notice when someone sat behind her on the opposite side of the bench. A voice, gruff and familiar, interrupted Scylla’s downward spiral._

_“You better not be doing what I think you’re doing,” Anacostia Quartermaine said, as if she was mundanely reciting the weather forecast printed in the newspaper she unfolded._

_Anacostia always seemed to show up when Scylla least expected it. At first, it was unsettling, despite their pact to work together and keep each other’s secrets. Sometimes she wondered if Anacostia somehow placed a tracker on her. But over the past few weeks, Scylla found the surprise appearances to be comforting. Anacostia, whether she intended it or not, often popped up when Scylla needed her most._

_“Depends on what you think I’m doing,” Scylla said._

_“Running.” Anacostia opened the paper. It crinkled as she spread it out wide between both hands._

_Anacostia also had an uncanny ability to read Scylla’s moods, not that she would give Anacostia the pleasure of admitting it outloud._

_“Strange,” Scylla deflected, looking down at her lap in surprise, “Pretty sure I’m sitting.” She didn’t have to see Anacostia to know she was rolling her eyes._

_“Don’t bullshit me, Ramshorn.” Anacostia turned a page. “I need to know if you’re still in.”_

_The way over is under. The way out is in._

_“I gave you my word,” Scylla said._

_“The word of a Dodger.”_

_Scylla turned her head slightly. “The word of someone who hates our enemies as much as you.” She could just make out the side of Anacostia’s stern profile. “I won’t stop until the Camarilla pay for what they’ve done.” She wouldn’t stop until she avenged Raelle._

_“Good.” Anacostia stood abruptly, re-folding the paper back up and leaving it on her seat. “Interesting article about the Cession. Might be of interest.”_

_With that, Anacostia disappeared as quickly as she had appeared, leaving Scylla mildly bewildered. She waited a few beats before she got up to leave, walking to the other side of the bench to pick up the discarded periodical. She flipped through it, scanning the black-and-white type until she found a page with a headline about the Cession. A lone sigil adroned a corner._

_She traced it with her pinky, gasping as her mind flashed to… Fort Salem. Or, more specifically, its infirmary. From Anacostia’s perspective, she moved through the medical ward, nodding to Colonel Wick, toward two beds near the back. In one was High and Mighty herself, Abigail Bellweather, scowling at the Fixers surrounding her. Scylla sucked in a sharp breath. Sitting upright in another was the one person Scylla thought she’d lost forever, a sheepish grin on her tired, but beautiful face._

_Scylla’s heart stopped and she dropped the paper. She stared at it on the ground, cheeks wet as she let out a laugh that came out as a garbled sob._

_Raelle was alive._

* * *

This would all end badly.

Icy tendrils of dread spread through Scylla as Willa drove a beat-up blue minivan through Fort Salem’s back roads, bringing them closer and closer to what she was sure was potential doom. The military base’s grounds were kept as meticulously pristine as ever. Grass neatly cut. Trees pruned. Flowers tended. A beautiful disguise that concealed a dark underbelly of slavery, oppression, and death. Scylla despised it.

“And you’re sure they won’t arrest us on the spot?” Cassidy asked from the back seat, knee fidgeting. The tension in the cabin was heavy among the five women in the van. Scylla kept her gaze firmly trained outside the passenger-side window, not wanting to spark yet another argument with Willa, especially in front of the others. She could just make out the outline of her old barracks in the distance.

Willa glanced at Cassidy through the rear-view mirror. “We’ve been over this, girl.” She pulled the steering wheel to the right, turning the van down a road that would take them to the officers’ quarters. “There are consequences for breaking an Accord. Even for someone like Alder.”

They fell silent once again, each of them lost in their own anxieties. After a short eternity, they reached the side entrance of a multi-story brick building where a number of officers waited at ease, hands interlocked behind their backs: Alder and her Biddies, Petra Bellweather, Nessa Clary, and Anacostia.

No one moved a muscle when Willa finally parked and turned off the van, the old engine ticking faintly. 

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Scylla broke the silence. 

Willa took the keys from the ignition. “Let’s go, ladies,” Willa said, as if she hadn’t heard Scylla at all. 

Shaking her head, Scylla stepped outside and was immediately hit with the energy that permeated throughout the fort. She had forgotten what it was like to be surrounded by the power of a Witch’s Place. It thrummed deep inside her bones; one of the few good things about Fort Salem that Scylla hadn’t even realized she missed. She knew the others felt it too, judging by the way their mouths fell open in awe.

Taking the lead, Willa approached Alder, who stood tall and imposing, full arrogance on display, as always. 

“Generals.” Willa nodded once at Alder, Clary, and Bellweather, who tracked Willa’s every move. 

Alder inclined her head forward slightly. “Specialist.” Neither woman moved to shake the other’s hands. 

“With all due respect, General, I’m no soldier,” Willa said. “Collar’s just fine. Or, Willa, if you prefer.”

The Biddies chittered in displeasure, tongues clicking in a way that sent a shiver down Scylla’s spine. 

“Once a soldier, always a soldier, Specialist,” Alder spat out, blue eyes hard as she circled the other women, not bothering to hide her judgment as she wordlessly dressed them down. “That goes for all of you.” She paused in front of Scylla, who stared straight back at Alder. Scylla refused to cower before her, even as sensory memory brought back the searing pain she once endured at Alder’s hands. 

Alder returned to her original position in front of Willa, who wore a serene smile on her face despite Alder’s clear disrespect. “While you are our… _guests_ … I expect you to conduct yourself in a manner befitting a soldier.”

A sarcastic remark threatened to fly out of Scylla’s mouth, but she managed to hold back thanks to the look Anacostia threw her way. _Don’t_ , her subtle eyebrow twitch warned. Squeezing her tongue between her teeth, Scylla bit back the retort that would no doubt have gotten her liquefied. It wasn’t worth it.

“Sergeant Quartermaine will escort you to your assignments,” Alder continued. “Except you, Specialist. The generals and I have much to discuss with you.”

“Understood.” Willa turned to look at her team, attempting to project an aura of calm that failed to stop the panic that spiked in Scylla’s chest, before she trailed behind Alder, Bellweather, and Clary. No matter how angry she was at Willa, and despite their complicated history, a part of Scylla still worried about her safety. If not for herself, then for Raelle.

“Ramshorn, Freeman, Jackson, Beatrix ” Anacostia barked out suddenly. “Follow me.”

“H-How do you know our names?” Cassidy asked, unnerved.

“We know everything, Freeman,” Anacostia said. “And see everything. Best keep that in mind at all times.” She executed a sharp about-face, not even bothering to check that they were following.

Scylla couldn’t stop herself. “And yet, against all odds, the Spree still managed to infiltrate the base,” she said as she caught up to the retreating sergeant. 

Anacostia threw daggers at Scylla with her eyes. “And the reason you’re here is to ensure that never happens again. Otherwise, there’d be a prison cell just waiting to welcome you back, Ramshorn.”

Scylla only smirked back as they entered the barracks, following Anacostia through empty hallways and into an unoccupied locker room. 

“You’ll need to get changed.” Anacostia pointed to four open lockers. Fresh uniforms hung inside.

“Didn’t you hear Willa?” Scylla eyed the military garb with disdain. “We’re not soldiers.”

“No,” Anacostia conceded. “But while you’re here, you have to be as discreet as possible. Hide in plain sight. Isn’t that what the Spree do best?” She at least had the decency to give them some privacy, leaving to stand guard at the door.

Cassidy let out a sigh. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Despite tremors in her hands, Scylla managed to dress quickly and efficiently, removing her clothes, slipping on a black t-shirt, tucking it into a pair of black trousers, and fastening her belt. After lacing up her boots and zipping up the gray uniform jacket, Scylla paused, catching her reflection in a nearby mirror. It was surreal, to say the least; a myriad of what-ifs swirling in Scylla’s mind, heady and potent.

It didn’t take long for the others to finish and, before long, they were once again out in the hall, transformed into fresh-faced cadets ready to throw their lives away. Anacostia was no longer alone. Three other officers had joined her side.

“Ramshorn, you’re with me,” Anacostia said.

“Wait.” Cassidy grabbed Scylla’s hand, panic evident in her shaky voice. “You’re separating us?”

“From this point forward, you four don’t know each other,” Anacostia explained, almost kindly. “It’s safer that way.”

Squeezing Cassidy’s hand, Scylla gave her what she hoped was a comforting smile, even as fear gripped at her own chest. She silently followed Anacostia, trepidation growing with each step. They left the building and began crossing across the grounds. The sun was too bright, the air too hot, the flora too sweet. A wave of nausea swept through Scylla as her eyes watered, blurring her vision. 

“It’ll be okay,” Anacostia said once they were alone, her voice low.

“I thought we both agreed not to lie to each other,” Scylla said with a sad smile, wiping the back of her hand across her cheeks. “But, thank you.”

Walking side-by-side, they passed cadets, enlisted soldiers, and officers. No one paid them any mind. For all they knew, Scylla was just another private on a walk with her drill sergeant.

Anacostia gave her a sidelong glance. “Only a handful of people know about what happened to you. They’ve taken a vow of silence, as have those who’ll work with you.”

“All of them?”

Anacostia nodded.

Scylla let that revelation, and its implications, sink in. “And the rest?”

“The Necros were told you’ve been on an extended furlough.” Anacostia led them toward the War College campus. “A dispensation for personal issues is more common than you might think.” 

So the cover was set. It gave Scylla some peace of mind, but not much as she broached the next question. “And who am I training?”

“One or two of our top units, under my supervision and another officer.” They entered the building that included the War College rough room. They bypassed the main training hall, and proceeded toward a smaller training room. It was a basic room, with a few black mats laid out on the vinyl floor. Anacostia whispered a few words that turned its few windows opaque. 

“They’ll be here soon,” Anacostia said, a strange expression passing along her features. If Scylla didn’t know any better, she would have called it pity.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Scylla asked, every instinct telling her to run as far as she possibly could. But there was no turning back now. The door opened behind her, bootsteps shuffling inside.

And Scylla felt her before she even saw her. 

“Welcome, ladies,” Anacostia greeted, pointedly ignoring Scylla’s death glare. 

Time seemed to stop. As if moving in slow motion, Scylla turned and watched as three units filed into the room with Izadora at the head, all eyes watching her with a mixture of curiosity, disdain, and suspicion. 

But all Scylla could see was _Raelle_. 

Whose lips parted in surprise, blue eyes widening in shock that mirrored Scylla’s own. 

Heart firmly pulsing in her throat, Scylla knew this wasn’t just going to end badly. It would be a complete _disaster_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The world is a dumpster fire, but I hope this story offers some comfort in these trying times. I also wanted to thank you all for the support for this story. It means the absolute world to me and fuels me to keep writing. You guys are the best!


	3. Chapter 3

“This is some shit.”

Raelle hadn’t voiced the massive understatement. Beth Treefine did. And, for once, Raelle agreed with the haughty High Atlantic. Beth’s Unit stood shoulder-to-shoulder to the left of Abigail, Tally, and Raelle in the small gym that would serve as their training ground for whatever forbidden Work they’d be learning. The walls felt like they were closing in. And Raelle couldn’t even begin to parse out the jumbling emotions that made her head spin as she watched Scylla, back in uniform, trading hushed, tense words with Anacostia and Izadora. 

“Isn’t Scylla, like, your ex?” Glory Moffett whispered out of the corner of her mouth to the Bellweather Unit’s right, brown eyes wide and round.

Heat prickled up Raelle’s neck.

Both Abigail and Tally shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

Beth’s head snapped toward Raelle. “Seriously, you dated a terrorist?” Her lips curled in disgust. “Why am I not surprised? You Cessions do love trash after all.”

Abigail grabbed Raelle’s wrist before she could launch herself at Beth and earn a month’s worth of demerits. “Shut your dirty, fetid mouth, Treefine, before I shut it for you,” Abigail threatened with a dangerous glare.

“Come on, Bellweather,” Beth scoffed. “Even you have to admit this is bullshit!”

"And what exactly is bullshit, Treefine?" Anacostia's question boomed out into the confined space. "Is following orders bullshit?" She stalked toward Beth, who stood at attention. "Or maybe it's doing whatever it takes to crush our enemies once and for all." Standing toe-to-toe with Beth, Anacostia stared her down. "Is that bullshit to you, Private?"

"No, ma'am." Beth kept her eyes trained forward, fear of the Goddess in them.

"Good." Anacostia walked down the line, glowering at each War College freshman. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend." She paused briefly in front of Raelle before she continued on. "You'd do well to remember it."

When she got to the last member of Glory's unit, Anacostia returned to a position in front of the soldiers.

"For those of you who don’t already know, this is Scylla Ramshorn." She beckoned Scylla forward. "Outside, she’s just another soldier. But here, she’ll be your instructor for the next few weeks. Treat her with anything but respect, and you’ll answer to me.” She moved to the side to stand next to Izadora.

The air thickened in Raelle's lungs as Scylla stepped forward, fingers casually tucked in her pockets, a small smirk on her stupidly beautiful face. Except the smug smile seemed almost too stiff, a brittle mask tenuously held in place. 

Scylla cleared her throat. “I know this isn’t ideal for you,” she began, making eye contact with everyone but Raelle. “It’s not exactly a picnic for me, either. But the sooner we get through this, the sooner we can defeat the Camarilla.”

“How?” Abigail asked.

Raelle bit the inside of her cheek, while Tally stifled a groan. 

“Bellweather,” Anacostia growled.

“Ma’am, I mean no disrespect,” Abigail explained, even as she eyed Scylla with caution. “A ceasefire is one thing. I genuinely want to know how the Spree can possibly help us.”

“The same old military tactics won’t work against the Camarilla for the same reason you’ve never eradicated the Spree in two decades,” Scylla explained. Off several blank looks, she added, “You can’t kill what you can’t catch.”

“And you’ll catch them with what?” Abigail crossed her arms. “Your winning personality?”

Scylla grinned. “There’s always that.” She slid a hand into her right pocket and fished out a zippo. “And this.” She flicked it open and lit it. Raelle’s lips parted as Scylla brought the flame to the edge of her jaw until it caught fire.

“Holy shit,” Glory gasped. 

The blaze consumed Scylla’s entire face for several seconds before it petered out, leaving a second version of Abigail, embers slowly fading from her hair. “Boo.”

Frowning, the real Bellweather stiffened. “What the hell?!” 

Dark memories of “Helen Graves” clawed at Raelle’s stomach, sharp and deep. “So, the key to defeating the Camarilla is, what, deception?” She couldn’t stop herself. It was infinitely easier to drop her filter when Scylla didn’t look like Scylla. “You’re definitely a pro at that,” she muttered, earning a jab in the ribs from Tally.

Scylla-as-Abigail blinked once, slowly. Still, she didn’t look at Raelle. Clicking the lighter once again, she burned off Abigail’s visage and returned to her own, blue eyes glowing as flames licked around her face. “If you can’t tell friend from foe, then you’re vulnerable.”

“You mean infiltrate them,” Tally said. “And expose them.”

Scylla smiled, genuinely this time. “Craven, I knew you were the brightest in your Unit.”

Abigail’s scowl intensified. “How are we supposed to infiltrate them if we can’t find them?”

“Who says we haven’t?” Scylla said in a way that unsettled Raelle, who thought back to the latest Camarilla massacre. Scylla had said she was sent to investigate, but had it been more than that? 

“So, does no one care that this Work is clearly outside Canon?” Beth unhelpfully pointed out.

Scylla regarded Beth with a look that could only be described as pity. “Canon is nothing more than a cage. Meant to keep you in check so you never realize the full extent of your power.”

Anacostia coughed into her fist and raised one brow at Scylla. 

“But I digress,” Scylla conceded. “Who wants to go first?”

No one volunteered. 

“Wow.” Scylla held up her hands, lips quirking sarcastically. “Don’t everyone answer the call at once, now.” 

“Collar, you’re up.” Anacostia’s bark was unusually loud in the awkward silence of the room.

Raelle schooled her features, even though she wanted nothing more than to glower at her former drill sergeant. Tally and Abigail watched her with thinly veiled apprehension. She followed Anacostia’s command and approached Scylla, who still refused to meet her eyes. 

“What Seeds do I use?” Raelle asked, affecting a bored drawl.

Scylla finally looked at her, and all the air squeezed out of Raelle’s lungs. “No Seeds.” She took in a breath that seemed to shake imperceptibly. “Mother Tongue.” 

Raelle’s eyebrows arched. “You’re joking.”

“Do I look like I’m doing standup?”

Scylla recited a short phrase, then repeated its serpentine staccato beats. Despite its brevity, it was difficult for Raelle to follow even as she subconsciously stared at the precise movements of Scylla’s lips. 

“Eventually you won’t have to say the words,” Scylla finished. 

“What do they mean?” Glory asked, her question startling Raelle. 

“ _In light shall I be cloaked_ ,” Scylla answered. “ _In darkness shall I be revealed_.” Wetting her lips, she tore her gaze from Raelle to address Glory. “Our ancestors created this Work during the Burning Times. Fought fire with fire to escape from their oppressors.” Her attention returned to Raelle. “Like the Spree do now.”

“And how many die from it?” Raelle’s jaw tightened as she clenched her fists. 

Scylla’s stoic expression wavered, a crack in the facade, but she didn’t look away. “How many die from inaction?”

They started at each other for several beats, a game of chicken to see who would blink first.

“Um, hello?” An impatient Abigail interrupted, snapping them both out of their near-trance. “The Work?”

Scylla glanced at Anacostia before offering her lighter to Raelle, who made it a point to take it without brushing against Scylla’s hand. For self-preservation.

Raelle stared at golden zippo, recalling how she had seen it on the small locker Scylla had used as a makeshift nightstand; how Scylla never seemed to be without it. Now she knew why. She pushed open its cap. It took several sparks before it came to life. 

“Now, think about someone,” Scylla ordered.

“Who?”

“Anyone. Picture them in your mind.”

Raelle closed her eyes, but the only person she saw was Scylla. As if it could be anyone else. “Okay,” she said, hating herself for her weakness. 

“Good, now repeat after me,” Scylla said, once again slipping back into Mother Tongue. _In light shall I be cloaked. In darkness shall I be revealed._

Raelle attempted to repeat the Work. Horribly. She tried again. And again. Tried to give shape to the words with her tongue and lips, to get used to how they felt in her mouth. 

“Now raise the flame,” Scylla said.

Opening her eyes, Raelle brought the lighter near her face. Its heat stung her jaw. 

“Don’t be afraid,” Scylla whispered.

Heart pounding, Raelle lifted her chin. “I’m not afraid.”

The challenge was clear in Scylla’s blue eyes.

Raelle drew her hand closer to her chin, but the flame was too much. It seared her skin, and she dropped the lighter with a yelp. It clattered against the floor as she cupped the burn. She wasn’t sure what mortified her more: the failure or the disappointment that flashed across Scylla’s face. 

* * *

_In the breath between life and death, memories flooded Raelle’s vision, hazy and random like hundreds of fireflies on a summer night. Of her mom and dad. Warm smiles, tight hugs, joyous laughter. Of Tally and Abigail. Infectious optimism and steady leadership. Tough love from Anacostia. They blended and bled into her link with Abigail, whose own recollections centered on Petra, her five fathers, her Unit, Adil, and Charvel._

_But in the center of the maelstrom was Scylla._

_Raelle no longer felt pain from where the Camarilla’s arrow pierced her body. Instead, her chest filled with love and anguish, longing and regret._

_“Scyl.” She stretched out her arm, trying to grasp Scylla’s hand and coming up empty, a millimeter out of reach. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”_

_Scylla only smiled, a melancholy twist of her lips, sapphire eyes luminescent._

_A burst of white engulfed Raelle, blinding and brilliant. Shutting her eyes tight, she felt fingers tightening around her left hand. She squeezed back. She’d never let go._

* * *

Raelle absentmindedly pushed peas around on her tray, the tines of her fork scraping metal as she separated them from the sliced mushrooms. She wasn’t hungry, despite eating only half a bagel hours ago, her stomach still wound tight after that less than stellar training session with Scylla. Of all the Spree. It had to be her. The absurd coincidence reminded her of that old black-and-white movie her dad loved. How did that one line go? _Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine._ That was it. 

Someone nudged Raelle’s shoulder and waved a hand in front of her face, dispelling her line of thought.

“Hey.” Tally said, sympathy apparent in her warm brown eyes. “You still with us?”

“Yeah, of course.” Raelle nodded, putting her fork down. 

The crowd in the War College mess hall had grown since they arrived for lunch, as had the volume of chatter from the hungry soldiers, most if not all of them absolutely clueless about the extracurricular activities happening on campus.

“You’re thinking about her,” Abigail observed next to Tally on the other side of the table. 

“I’m not thinking about anyone,” Raelle lied even as her traitorous heart wondered where Scylla had gone with Anacostia and Izadora.

“You’re such a liar.” Abigail shook her head as she raised a glass of water to her lips. 

“Well, _I’m_ thinking about her,” Tally chimed in. “She’s actually a decent instructor.” She shrunk underneath Raelle’s stare. “You know, all things considered.”

Abigail rolled her eyes. “You’re only saying that because you’re the only one who was actually working that Work.” 

“One of the perks of linking with a 327-year-old?” Tally leaned forward as if she was sharing a deep secret. “Instant Mother Tongue.”

“Of all the people to impersonate, though.” Abigail speared a piece of pineapple and popped it into her mouth. “Hilary? Really? I thought you were over her and Gerit.”

Tally shrugged up a shoulder and deflected, “Who did you pick?”

“My mom,” Abigail answered. “Could you imagine her face?” She shared a chuckle with Tally while Raelle continued to sulk. “How about you, Rae?”

“What does it matter?” Raelle asked, knowing full well they knew she only had one person in mind. 

“It doesn’t.” Tally reached out and gently covered Raelle’s right hand where it rested on the table. “But, you know we’re here for you. You can talk about her, if you want.” 

“Why would I?” Raelle resisted the urge to pull away, not wanting to hurt Tally’s feelings.

“Because you still need to get your shit together,” Abigail said, tone creeping into overbearing Bellweather territory that still managed to set Raelle’s teeth on edge.

“My shit’s just fine.” Raelle clung to her obstinance. Had a knack for it. It was the one thing she could still control.

“Your shit’s a mess.” Abigail’s gaze flicked over Raelle’s shoulder and she did a double take. “And it’s about to get worse.” 

Raelle swiveled in her seat, stomach dropping. As if the day couldn’t get any worse. Her mother was now approaching their table. In uniform, no less, a hesitant smile on her face. 

“Raelle,” Willa greeted softly. 

Raelle gritted her teeth so hard her jaw ached. 

“This must be your Unit,” Will said when Raelle didn’t respond, offering her hand to Abigail. “You’re Petra’s daughter. Abigail, right?”

Hesitating only briefly, Abigail stood and firmly took Willa’s hand and gave it a firm shake, once up and down. “Yes, ma’am.”

“She’s told me so much about you. I feel like I already know you.” Willa stretched a hand to Tally, who also rose to her feet to clasp it. “And you must be Tally. I knew one of your aunts. Mae? One of the finest soldiers I’ve known. She told me once that the Cravens received a dispensation from conscription.”

“Oh!” Tally’s brows shot up. “Yes, ma’am. But I… I volunteered.”

Willa blinked once. “You decided to serve even though you didn’t need to. Admirable. If only we all could have that same choice.” 

An awkward hush wrapped around them, a tense bubble amid the white noise of the mess hall.

“Well, it was nice to meet you officially, ma’am,” Abigail picked up her tray, awkwardly canting her head to encourage Tally to join her. “But we best be going.”

They reluctantly left the table, both eyeing Raelle with concern.

“I should go with them,” Raelle said, standing to collect her own things.

”Actually, I was hoping we could talk,” Willa said.

“Have you talked to dad yet?”

A hint of pain glinted in near identical blue. “No.”

“Then we have nothing to talk about.” Raelle got up and quickly deposited her tray in a receptacle. She made a beeline for the exit, hoping to catch up with Tally and Abigail. 

“Raelle, please.” Willa followed her outside into the afternoon heat. “I know you’re angry. And you have every right to be. But if you would just let me explain, you’d understand.”

“Understand what?” Raelle whirled around. “Why you abandoned us? Made us think you were dead? Sent Scylla to…” She stopped short. The last thing she wanted was to talk about Scylla. Didn’t want to even think of the possibility that Willa had deliberately assigned Scylla to train her Unit.

“Yes,” Willa said simply. “You owe me at least that much, girl.”

Temper flaring, Raelle stepped into her mom’s space. “I don’t owe you anything,” she snarled.

Raelle stalked away, emotions ablaze, a ball of pent up fury as she trekked across the grounds. She let the anger consume her, ignoring the sliver of disappointment that wrapped around her heart when her mom didn’t follow. Contrary to popular belief, she wasn’t dense. She had thought about Willa’s reasons nearly everyday. And logically, she understood.

Alder’s military system _was_ slavery. There was no doubt about that. So many women had been forced to early deaths they didn’t choose, and the same fate awaited their daughters, and their daughters’ daughters. Her mom didn’t want Raelle to become war meat. Hell, Raelle didn’t want to become war meat. Perhaps in some twisted way, Willa thought she was also protecting Edwin, breaking his heart to keep him safe from the war. The Spree sought freedom to live their lives without fear of being hunted down and killed, like Scylla’s parents. But they were also murderers, just like the Army--both entities so mired in darkness that Raelle wasn’t sure they’d ever see the light.

She knew all this. But her heart still couldn’t get past the betrayal of it all, and the fear of everything she still didn’t know about the terrible lengths Willa had gone to in furtherance of her cause. It was easier to cling to pain and resentment, than to wade into brackish water and attempt to separate brine from the fresh. 

Her eyes began to sting and she stopped to suck in several deep breaths. She had wandered the grounds, unseeing, and somehow found herself at the base of her favorite grand oak tree. It stood massive and towering, limbs curving and snaking toward the sun, the silent keeper of memories and secret moments. Raelle braced a hand against its rough bark, pushing until it dug into her skin. She had to collect herself, or at least fake it as best she could, before her next set of classes, which included even more testing with Izadora. Or else she’d never hear the end of it from Abigail and Tally.

When her anger had cooled from a boil to a simmer, Raelle rounded the tree, intending to settle between it’s exposed roots, only to receive an unexpected jolt when she found her spot already occupied.

By Scylla.

Because, _of course,_ it had to be Scylla. Sitting under Raelle’s favorite tree. _Their_ _tree._ Where they had stolen kisses from each other and made plans for the future. Where Scylla had once lifted Raelle and spun her in her arms, carefree and in love.

Raelle’s chest constricted at the realization.

“S-sorry,” Raelle stuttered out. “I didn’t realize anyone was here.”

Startled, Scylla dropped the pen she had been holding. It rolled into the gutter of the journal she had been writing in. “Raelle…” 

Crystal blue eyes widening behind a pair of black, wire-framed reading glasses. They reminded Raele of the ones Scylla used to wear late at night in her dorm room, studying thick tomes on mycology and necromancy while Raelle dozed on her bed after a long day in the rough room. 

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Raelle started to back away. 

“You don’t have to leave,” Scylla regained her composure and picked up her pen. “I can go.”

“No, you were here first.” Raelle turned to leave. “I’ll just....” Her heel caught one of the tree’s gnarled roots. She stumbled slightly, but managed to maintain her balance, if not her dignity, face red with embarrassment.

Scylla chewed at her bottom lip. “You know, it’s a big tree. And we’re big girls. We can both stay without bothering each other.”

Raelle almost laughed. They both knew that would be impossible. And yet, the way Scylla regarded her with no expectations, an open invitation with no pressure, it made Raelle want to believe they could do it. Co-exist. If not exactly peacefully, then at least politely. 

For the mission.

At least, that’s what Raelle told herself as she ignored all her survival instincts and sat on the ground, back against the crags of the trunk a few meters away from Scylla.

Silence blanketed them, not quite comfortable but not unbearable either, as a gentle breeze ruffled the branches overhead. Scylla’s pen scratched softly against paper, and Raelle stole a glimpse of Scylla out of the corner of her eye. The sun’s rays rippled down through the leaves, light and shadow flickering over Scylla’s gorgeous profile, head bent and dark hair swaying in the wind as she resumed writing.

Unlike Willa, Scylla made no efforts to address the unspoken tension between them--more massive than any proverbial elephant. Didn’t try to explain, or apologize, beyond what had already transpired between them in that prison cell so many moons ago. Raelle wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, or if it would even change anything, regardless. 

Her stomach sank anyway. 

Because unlike with Willa, Raelle felt remorse regarding Scylla, who had been captured and tortured because she had _chosen_ Raelle over the Spree. Regret had burrowed inside Raelle’s heart the moment Scylla had pleaded with her in that horrible dungeon. Had transformed into a gnawing guilt that continued to fester long after Raelle callously dismissed Scylla anyway, wanting to break Scylla heart the way Scylla had broken hers. Raelle had no idea how to fix it, or if she even could.

“How’s your chin?” Scylla broke the stillness.

Raelle gingerly touched the healed skin. She’d almost forgotten it had been burned in the first place. “All fixed up. Which is more than I can say about Treefine’s hair.” She had no idea the High Atlantic could screech that loudly.

Scylla let out a soft chuckle. “It’ll grow back.”

“Not at the rate we’re going.” Raelle ran her fingers through the grass, tips tickling her palm.

“It’s only the first day,” Scylla said. “It gets easier.”

“Oh yeah? How long did it take you?” Raelle asked and then instantly wished she could take it back. Scylla’s parents had probably taught her, and here she was bringing up those painful memories. “Sorry, I…”

“It’s okay.” Scylla shook her head. “A while. I didn’t want to get burned. But, eventually, you get used to it. Learn not to fear it. Until you feel nothing at all.”

 _I’ve been burned before,_ Scylla had told Raelle that one time, deep in the cemetery in the woods. Both literally and figuratively. And Raelle had contributed to it. They’d both hurt each other, intentionally and unintentionally. Raelle’s heart throbbed against her ribs. She wanted to reach out, but knew she couldn’t. Not any more.

Before she could respond, someone called out Scylla’s name. A young woman with long, brown hair beckoned from a distance. Raelle frowned.

“I have to go,” Scylla removed her glasses, voice soft. Closing her journal, she pushed herself onto her feet and dusted off her pants. “See you around, Raelle.”

“Scyl, wait,” Raelle blurted out, scrambling to her feet. She didn’t know what possessed her, but she had to get this out. 

Scylla paused, head tilting slightly. 

“What I said back then.” Raelle licked her suddenly dry lips. “About being sorry we ever met.” Hot shame spread across Raelle’s cheeks. “I didn’t mean it.” 

Scylla’s expression shifted through a myriad of emotions--surprise, pain, and sadness conveyed in each subtle twitch of her mouth and crease of her brow--until the sea of her eyes calmed. Softened. 

“Thank you,” Scylla whispered before she quickly turned around and walked away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're all still enjoying the story! We've got a ways to go with these two idiots, so thank you for joining this ride. Come find me on tumblr if you ever wanna yell about MFS or Raylla!


	4. Chapter 4

Scylla’s fist slammed against the punching bag, the blow reverberating up her right arm to her elbow and shoulder. She jabbed with her left, then followed it with a right hook and a left uppercut. Muscles burning, it felt good to release all the pent up frustration that had been steadily building over the past few weeks. Here, she didn’t have to think about the Spree, the Army, or the Camarilla. Didn’t have to think about Anacostia and her lofty expectations, or about Willa and her growing disappointment. 

And, most importantly, it kept her mind off Raelle.

She threw a particularly vicious right cross, powered by an unintentional Seed sound, sending her poor workout partner flying into the air. Cassidy landed a few meters away, the impact echoing loudly throughout the empty rough room. It was early enough that they would still have the space to themselves for at least a few minutes more before it would be crammed full of eager War College soldiers. 

“O-kay,” Cassidy groaned as she rolled to her side, slowly pushing herself up into a sitting position. “I think I’ve had about enough of that.”

“Sorry, Cass.” Scylla walked over, clasped Cassidy’s wrist, and helped pull her to her feet. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” Wincing, Cassidy palmed the back of her head, just under her ponytail. “Sadly, this’ll probably be the highlight of my day.” 

“Training’s going that well?” Scylla wiped sweat from her forehead with a small towel, and flapped her sleeveless gray shirt to cool off.

“I think that one mean sergeant with, uh, you know, the eyes… the scary eyes. Quartermaine?” Cassidy shuddered. “I thought she was for sure gonna liquefy me because they weren’t ready for the next mission. Actually, she’d probably do it anyway if she caught you and me,” she curled her fingers into air quotes, “fraternizing.”

Scylla chuckled. “Try not to let Anacostia scare you.”

“Is this where you tell me her bark is worse than her bite?” Cassidy gave her a skeptical side-eye.

“Oh no, they’re equally terrifying,” Scylla half-grinned, walking to the edge of a sparring mat and exchanging her towel for a water bottle. “Just try not to let her scare you, anyway.” 

“Great, thanks,” Cassidy muttered, grabbing her own drink and guzzling it down. “Between her and Collar’s kid, I’m not sure who hates me more.”

Scylla’s hand stilled as she brought the bottle to her lips. “You’ve, um, met Raelle?” She kept her voice light and uninterested, hoping it belied the way her pulse quickened.

“Met?” Cassidy grimaced. “No. But she gives me the evil eye every time I see her. What’s up with that?”

What, indeed. Scylla shrugged noncommittally even as her stomach fluttered. 

“At least I won’t have to see either of them for a while after today,” Cassidy said. 

Scylla’s brow scrunched up. “What do you mean?”

“It means you’re being dispatched in less than 12 hours,” Willa Collar’s voice cut in. “Which you would have known if you’d bothered to show up to last night’s debrief.”

The hair along the nape of Scylla’s neck rose as she turned to watch Willa approach, lips pursed, boots clicking ominously on the hard floor. She was in uniform, crisp and neatly pressed. The perfect image of the perfect soldier. It was impressive, really, how well Willa could disguise herself in a lie. Scylla really had learned from the best.

Willa aimed a thin smile at Cassidy. “Do you mind if we have a minute, Cass?” It wasn’t a request.

“Sure thing, Boss.” Cassidy nodded, gave Scylla a  _ look _ that implied  _ behave,  _ and headed out.

Scylla uncapped her bottle and took a long drink, if only to prolong the inevitable. The cold water did little to soothe the dryness in her throat as Willa peered at her in that unnerving way of hers, cold and appraising. Scylla still remembered when her blue eyes had been warmer and full of life. The past year clearly had not been kind. 

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Willa said when they were alone. 

“No, I’ve been busy with assignments you’ve forced on us.” Scylla set her water back down. “There’s a difference.”

“And how have those been going?”

“I thought you read all of my scintillating status reports.”

Willa lifted one eyebrow. “I want to hear it from you.”

“Most of them understand the basics of the Work,” Scylla said. “Craven and Moffett show the most promise, but none can maintain it under duress. Not yet.” They had all been frustrated in the last session when Scylla had dispelled their Work with a simple Seed of Disruption. 

“And Raelle?”

There it was. The real reason behind Willa’s questioning. All their conversations always came back to Raelle, eventually. Scylla was surprised it took this long.

“She should probably stick to Fixing.” That wasn’t exactly true. Raelle was no better or worse than the others, but Scylla wanted to get a rise of Willa. And it worked. 

Willa exhaled loudly, annoyance seeping into her already tense posture. “I mean, how is she?”

“Ask her yourself.” Scylla crossed her bare arms. 

“Don’t you think I’ve tried?”

“Try harder.”

Willa’s eyes flashed, dangerous like a stormy sea. “If you had just done your job to begin with--”

“And if  _ you  _ had just told her the truth,” Scylla interrupted, her own ire rising with the agitated beats of her heart. “You wouldn’t be in this mess. And neither would I.” 

“You know why I couldn’t.” Willa took an intimidating step closer and Scylla resisted the urge to retreat. 

Scylla did know. Knew all too well the lengths people would go to if it meant keeping their loved ones safe. But still... 

“I’m not helping you with Raelle. I thought I made that clear.” Scylla closed the gap between them even further. “I won’t hurt her. Ever again.”

Willa’s vice-like control over her emotions slipped. “She’ll be hurt if she stays in the Army. Or worse.  _ You  _ know that. She belongs with me. With us.”

“She’ll get hurt with us, too,” Scylla whispered, taking no victory when her words hit their mark and hurt rippled across Willa’s face. “But whether she stays or goes, that’s her decision to make. Isn’t that what you wanted? To give her the choice you didn’t have?”

Scylla stood her ground, planting her feet firmly on the proverbial hill she’d die on, neither of them wanting to be the first to flinch in their latest battle of wills. The double doors of the rough room burst open as several soldiers entered for early morning workouts. One stormed up to them. 

“What are you doing here?” 

It was Raelle. 

Willa blinked, and Scylla broke eye contact, head ducked down as they both moved away from each other. Yet another stalemate ended. 

“Having a conversation,” Willa answered, mask firmly back in place. “If you can recall how those work.” 

Raelle’s gaze was icy. “Seems you forgot yourself ‘bout a year ago.”

Like mother, like daughter. The two women stared each other down, reminding Scylla of two gunslingers locked in a duel at high noon. She took the rare opportunity to observe them both, noting the similar intensity in their profiles, the same conviction in nearly identical blue eyes. Together, they were Scylla’s past, present, and future, both evoking a complicated swirl of emotions within her. 

Willa lips flattened into a tight smile. “You can stand down, Private, I was just leaving.” She turned back toward Scylla, expression clear that their discussion was far from finished. “As for you, you’ll receive orders shortly.”

With that, she left them both. 

Scylla breathed out, long and slow. Her shoulders relaxed slightly, though tension lingered in her neck. Her heart rate remained elevated, far from calm now that Raelle had fixed her attention on her. 

“Are you okay?” Raelle asked tentatively, gloved fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeveless black shirt.

“I’m fine, thanks.” Scylla attempted what she hoped was a convincing smile, hating the awkwardness between them. They were friendly, but far from friends. Stuck in a limbo of polite caution where they revolved around each other at arm’s length, neither willing to disrupt their new status quo. 

“You sure?” Raelle licked her lips, an inscrutable expression on her face. “Looked like you two were about to throw down.”

“Yeah.” Scylla nodded. “You Collars are nothing if not fierce.” She began to undo the straps of her training gloves, pulling at the velcro with a sharp rip. 

“You want to work it out?”

Scylla paused, unsure if she heard correctly. “Sorry?”

“Release some steam.” Raelle self-consciously raked her fingers through her blonde hair. “If you wanted.”

Scylla’s pulse kicked up even more. “That’s not necessary.”

“Come on,” Raelle insisted. “I’ve always wanted to see a Necro in action.” She flashed a grin; nervous, but real. It reminded Scylla of carefree days long gone.

“You wouldn’t be able to handle a Necro,” Scylla scoffed, paying no heed to the way her stomach flipped.

“Then you’ve got nothing to lose.”

It was a bad idea. A terrible one. Scylla knew it. And yet Raelle looked so playful and expectant. She was  _ trying _ . And Scylla couldn’t resist. 

“Fine.” She re-tightened the straps of her training gloves and walked over to the sparring mat, bouncing on the balls of her feet to shake off the nerves that crept into her confidence.

“You serious?”

“As a heart attack.” It slipped out, the phrase Willa was so fond of using, and Scylla inwardly cursed when Raelle’s easy gait stuttered as she took a position opposite Scylla. They both assumed a fighting stance, fists up.

“Haven’t heard that in a long time,” Raelle said as she threw a few light jabs that Scylla deftly dodged.

“You can ask me, you know,” Scylla said as they circled each other on the mat. “About her. I know you want to.”

“Will you tell me the truth?” Raelle feinted a punch and followed it with a front kick. Scylla blocked and countered with her own combination of strikes, hitting only air until she finally landed a glancing blow to Raelle’s chin.

“Yes.” Scylla backed off from pressing her assault, breath growing short from the exertion and the fact that it was the first physical contact she and Raelle had shared since their reunion at the massacre site. “The more important question is: will you believe me?”

Raelle’s fingertips skimmed the spot where she’d been hit, just underneath her scar. Impressed, she smiled and put her guard back up. “You work for my mom.”

“ _ With _ her,” Scylla corrected. “But you already knew that.”

“When did you meet?”

“About two years ago. After my parents were killed.” Scylla managed to hold her emotions in check, stemming the tide that always swelled within her whenever she thought of that horrible night. “She told me her name was Wilhelmina Smith.”

Raelle paused momentarily, nostrils flaring. “Smith was my dad’s name before they got married.” 

Their dance of offense and defense continued, attacks quickly parried, breaths growing heavier. They seemed evenly matched, though Scylla wondered if Raelle was holding back, just as she was, both not wanting to hurt the other. 

“She found me a place to stay,” Scylla continued. “Where I’d be safe.” 

“With the Spree?”

Scylla nodded once.

“So you knew her for a while?” Raelle asked, a tick in her jaw, throat bobbing as she swallowed.

“No.” Scylla shook her head, managing to avoid Raelle’s attempt at a leg sweep. “She’d check in every once in a while, but I rarely saw her. Not for a year, at least.” 

Scylla could practically see the cogs turning inside Raelle’s mind as she calculated the timeline of her mother’s “death.”

“And then?”

“And then she sent orders remotely.”  _ Orders to say the words and get conscripted. Orders to let the Army make her strong. Orders to stay away from the cell at Baylord. _

“Like recruiting me?”

Scylla hesitated on her next punch, giving Raelle the opening she needed to grab Scylla’s wrist, and twist her body until she could seize Scylla from behind. 

“You didn’t know she was my mom when I was your target.” It wasn’t a question. 

“No.” Scylla struggled to break free, hands clasping at sweat-slicked skin and toned muscle that wrapped around her. 

“If you had, would you have delivered me?” Raelle’s breath was hot against Scylla’s ear. 

Suppressing a shiver, Scylla snapped herself forward, using Raelle’s own weight to flip her over her shoulder and onto the mat. Raelle landed with a hard grunt, the wind knocked clean out of her. Scylla took the advantage to swiftly pin Raelle’s arms above her head, and trap her legs between her thighs. When Raelle tried to buck her off, Scylla only squeezed tighter.

“No,” Scylla panted out, chest heaving and blood pounding in her ears. She was so close to Raelle, too close, that she could feel Raelle’s harsh puffs against her face. Could smell the familiar clean scent of the Army’s regulation soap mixed with the sharp tang of sweat. Scylla’s gaze darted from Raelle’s dilated pupils to her lips and back, a familiar ache beginning to pool deep in her belly.

A loud and exaggerated cough came out of nowhere. 

They both glanced up to see Abigail towering over them, arms crossed, a scowl on her face. Next to her was Tally, mouth dropped open and eyes so wide they could pop right out of their sockets.

“Excuse me, shitbirds, but this is a rough room,” Abigail quipped. “Not some cheap no-tell motel.”

Face on fire, Scylla immediately rolled off Raelle. They both refused to look in each other’s direction. 

* * *

_ The world seemed to tilt off-axis as Scylla stumbled through town, trying to reach the bus station before she met the same fate of her parents. She could still see the fear on both their faces as they had raised their hands in surrender; how her mom’s eyes had slid toward the garage in silent warning and love; the sickening thud of their bodies; the way the MPs chuckled after the execution. It was seared into her memory.  _

_ A nauseating wave of anguish hit her and she retched on the side of a dark street. It wasn’t the first time that night, and it most likely wouldn’t be the last.  _

_ Legs weak, Scylla rounded a building about a block away from the depot. She was a mess and she needed a new lighter as soon as possible, having left her favorite one in her bedroom. They hadn’t even been there a week before they were found, boxes still left unpacked around the house.  _

_ Panic overwhelmed her already churning stomach the second she set foot inside the small station. The military was already there, with MPs stationed at each gate. As casually as possible, Scylla pulled the hood of her dirty sweater up and fixed her attention on the arrival and departure board, watching out of the corner of her eye as one bus unloaded and a few more soldiers joined the ranks. She had to get out of there. _

_ Scylla waited until she could slip into a large enough group of departing passengers, blending in with them until she could peel away. She headed deep down a nearby alleyway, head pounding, eyes stinging, staggering until her back hit a brick wall and she slid down to the ground behind a green dumpster. _

_ It was hopeless, she thought as she wrapped her arms around her knees and curled into a ball. She was only prolonging the inevitable. Maybe it would be better if she just gave up now and turned herself in. Join her parents in the afterlife. At least then she wouldn't have to be alone. _

_ "Are you okay?" _

_ Scylla's head snapped up and her heart stopped. A soldier approached slowly, hands up, placating. She was an older woman with blonde hair tied up in a bun. _

_ Backing up against the wall, Scylla tried to remember one of the defensive Seeds that her parents had taught her, but was paralyzed with fear. This was it. _

_ "Hey, I'm not gonna hurt you," the woman said, azure eyes kind. "I just wanna help." She slowly crouched down carefully to not spook Scylla. "I'm Wilhelmina Smith." _

_ Scylla couldn't speak even if she had wanted, not with the way terror gripped her throat. She was shaking so badly that she was surprised her teeth weren’t chattering. _

_ “Listen,” Wilhelmina said softly. “If the MPs are this deep in the Cession, that means they’re lookin’ looking for one of two things: deserters or dodgers. You don’t look old enough to be a deserter. What are you? Fifteen? Sixteen?” _

_ Scylla managed a nod. _

_ “Parents?” _

_ Try as she might, Scylla couldn’t stop the tears that spilled down her cheeks. They answered Wilhelmina’s question for her. _

_ “I know you have no reason to trust me, but I can get you somewhere safe.” She held out her hand. “We have to move quickly, though.” _

_ Scylla stared at the proffered hand, weighing her options between a rock and a hard place. She could take a chance with this stranger, who could be leading her to a trap. Or roll the dice and run, risking capture. _

_ “Why…” Scylla’s voice came out raspy and rough. “Why are you doing this?” _

_ “I have a daughter. ‘Bout your age. If she was in your shoes, I’d hope someone would help her too.” _

_ There was something about this woman. Something calm and gentle. Something that made Scylla want to trust her even though she had every reason not to. _

_ Scylla took her hand anyway. _

* * *

Deep below Fort Salem, the Mycelium Wall stood as it had for centuries, opaque and shrouded in mystery. White wisps swirled in a crystalline mist, undisturbed by the experiment being conducted in its space. A distorted Seed sound wrapped around the participants of the cold, gray room. Although barely audible to the naked human ear, it made the witches present wince in pain. 

“This isn’t working,” Abigail huffed out, breaking her link with Raelle and covering her ears.

Izadora, whose face was scrunched up in similar displeasure, raised a hand at Scylla, who quickly shut the lid of a small wooden box. The noise mercifully ended, and the resulting silence soothed Scylla’s frayed hearing. 

“What the hell was that?” Raelle asked, fingers massaging her temples. 

“Something the Camarilla cooked up,” Scylla said from the corner of the room. “They’ve been layering it at the massacre sites.”

Leaning back up against a wall, she pointedly avoided Raelle’s gaze as she spoke. Whatever ground she and Raelle had gained with each other--in terms of getting back to...well, not  _ normal _ , by any means...but to some sort of truce--had taken a major step back because Scylla hadn’t been able to say no to Raelle earlier.

“Bastardizing our Work with the dead,” Izadora crossed her arms in disgust. 

“And this is supposed to be related to the witch bomb?” Abigail asked.

“Not necessarily.” Izadora walked in a circle around where Abigail and Raelle sat facing each other in front of the Mycelium Wall. “But we had to eliminate the possibility that the Camarilla used it on the Altai Mountains, or that it played a role in your explosion.”

Abigail slumped into her chair. “So, basically, we’re back at square one.”

“Patience, Private Bellweather.” Izadora patted Abigail’s shoulder. “This isn’t an exact science. We’ll get there.”

“There must be something else,” Scylla said. “Something small you may have missed.”

Raelle shrugged up a shoulder. “We’ve been over it a hundred times. I got stabbed.” Scylla frowned. “Abigail tried to link with me. And the next thing we knew…”

“We were walking through mushroom land,” Abigail finished.

Scylla pushed off the wall and approached the Mycelium, drawn to the power in its murky depths. It resonated in the marrow of her bones, comforting and peaceful. “No.” She stopped a respectable distance from it before Izadora could object. “Something from before then.”

“We’ve established that Private Collar had contact with the Mycelium and somehow forged a link with it,” Izadora recounted.

“Yeah, she’s got a knack for touching shit she shouldn’t,” Abigail muttered, which earned her a kick to the shins from Raelle.

Scylla turned to face Raelle. “When did it happen? And why were you down here?”

Raelle’s eyes shifted to Izadora then back toward the ground. “It was a few days after the wedding. I thought I could find answers.” Raelle looked directly at Scylla, whose breath stilled. “About you.”

Ignoring the twist beneath her ribs, Scylla focused back on the wall. This wasn’t the time to unpack that tangled revelation. “Why did you touch it?”

Leaning forward, Raelle rested her elbows on her knees, idly rubbing at her left index finger. “I dunno. I just…” She shook her head. “It felt like the right thing to do. I can’t explain it.”

“And then what?”

Raelle turned up her hands. “Nothing. I had some of it on my finger, but it’s gone now.” 

“No.” Scylla began to pace. “Something else had to have happened between then and the Tarim mission.”

“She took a shitload of Salva,” Abigail offered.

“That has nothing to do with anything,” Raelle snapped, cheeks darkening. Scylla made a mental note to dig into that nugget of information later.

“Salva exits the system within 24 hours,” Izadora noted, eyes drawn back to the Mycelium. "The doses you took should have been lethal, but they weren't."

“Is there anything else?” Scylla asked. “Something you might have encountered, or anyone else you may have linked with?”

“I don’t know. There was Treefine when we learned about linking.” Raelle shot another look at Izadora, who only shrugged, unfazed. “Tally at City Drop.”

Abigail suddenly sat up in her chair. “Khalida.”

“Who?” Scylla asked.

“The Tarim refugee,” Izadora answered. “Private Collar cured her of the Camarilla’s poison when even our best fixers could not.”

“After you fixed her,” Abigail snapped her fingers, “you said you normally take on the disease.”

Raelle's eyes widened. “But I didn’t.”

“Exactly. It just disappeared. Melted into the ground.” Abigail looked expectantly at Izadora, who rubbed her chin. “What if it went somewhere else?”

“The Mycelium,” Scylla breathed out.

Izadora walked quickly to her desk and pulled out a ledger. “Around that time, I observed an unusual phenomenon with the wall. It turned black for a few moments before reverting to normal.”

“Could Raelle have transferred the poison to the Mycelium?” Scylla joined Izadora to scan the notes. 

“It’s possible,” Izadora nodded, an eager glint in her dark eyes. “Did you have any other contact with the Camarilla’s disease?”

Raelle’s lips parted. “There was a boy in the mountains. I fixed him too.”

“Right before the bomb,” Abigail confirmed, swiveling in her seat.

“It’s possible the Mycelium absorbed the poison, converted it somehow, and then released the energy through Raelle,” Izadora hypothesized then let out a short laugh. “It’s the best lead we’ve had in weeks.” 

Excitement shot through Scylla. “Have you cured anyone else since then?”

“No one else has been sick,” Raelle said.

They all fell silent, weighing the potential implications of the connections they had forged until Scylla’s wristwatch buzzed, spoiling the moment.Scylla looked at the time. She would be late if she didn’t hurry and the last thing she needed was another argument with Willa. 

“I have to go,” she said apologetically.

“What? Now?” Abigail almost sounded disappointed. “We just got started.”

“Sorry, High and Mighty. But duty calls.” Scylla nodded at Raelle, who inclined her head slightly, brow creased. 

“Good work, Ramshorn,” Izadora gave her a small, proud smile before reaching out and touching Scylla’s elbow. “We need samples of that poison,” she added, her voice low.

“I’ll see what we can do.” 

Night had blanketed Fort Salem by the time Scylla emerged from the Necro facility and returned to her temporary quarters, gongs echoing in the distance to mark the start of curfew. Despite the adrenaline coursing through her, it had been a  _ trying _ day, to say the least.Exhausted, Scylla ran a hand down her face, reminding herself it could have been worse. It always could be worse. 

She entered her room, wanting nothing more than to crash onto her bed and surrender to a long, dreamless sleep. But, no. She had to report back to Penelope Road. Eyeing the full-length mirror on the wall, Scylla moved to the closet and began shedding her uniform: unzipped and shrugged out of the jacket, unbuckled the belt, pulled off the shirt, and slipped out of the pants. She rummaged through the closet and fished out the jeans and light plaid shirt she had arrived in.

When Scylla was fully dressed again, she glanced at her reflection. A sense of freedom washed over her, mixed with an unexpected ripple of melancholy. Shaking it off, she tucked her Zippo into her pocket, then grabbed her journal and checked that the worn photo of her parents was still tucked safely within its pages.She pulled it out, reverently tracing their faces with the tip of her finger. Not a day went by that she didn’t wish they were still alive, wondering whether they would have approved of her path or would have been severely disappointed. Often, she feared it was the latter. 

Her mind drifted to Willa and Raelle, and their stubborness. How they had the luxury of taking new pictures, creating new memories, but would rather waste time and butt heads. It wasn’t Scylla’s place to make them see eye-to-eye. And yet…

Heart clenching, Scylla stuffed the picture back into her journal, which she placed inside a small backpack. Scylla didn’t want to leave anything of note behind, in case she didn’t make it back for a while.  _ Or at all _ , her mind whispered.

The campus was quiet and still when she left the dorm, save for the occasional chirp from crickets in the grass. Scylla carefully avoided any patrols on the paths toward the pickup location at the officers’ barracks, cutting through fields and ducking behind trees when she needed. 

She was nearly in the clear, about a few hundred meters from her final destination, when a figure appeared at the end of the walkway. Scylla tensed up, expecting a dressing down by a clueless patrolwoman who knew nothing of Alder’s Accord with the Spree, only to relax when she recognized the soldier. 

Anacostia.

The sergeant, strolling with her hands linked behind her back, stopped in her tracks when her eyes landed on Scylla.

Anacostia eyed her civilian clothes and backpack. “Going somewhere?”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t get the memo.” Scylla half-smirked as they drew closer to each other.

“Right.” Clearing her throat, Anacostia turned and fell into step beside Scylla. “Of course. How long will you… How long is the operation?”

“As long as it takes.” Scylla lifted one eyebrow. “Are you gonna miss me?”

“Oh, I’ll miss you like I miss a sharp stick in the eye,” Anacostia reassured her, and Scylla chuckled. 

A comfortable silence settled between them, their steps soft on the pavement. If someone had told Scylla a year ago that Anacostia Quartermaine would become one of her confidants, a steady rock amid turbulent waters, she would have laughed in their face. And Scylla would miss her while she was away.

“Is Willa Collar going with you?” Anacostia asked, almost hesitantly. 

“I’m not sure,” Scylla answered honestly, hitching her backup up higher. “But I doubt it. She’s too important to risk.”

“And  _ you _ are?”

“Careful, Sergeant, I just might start to think you like me.” Scylla winked, drawing a scoff from Anacostia. “Does...” Scylla started to ask even though she knew she probably shouldn’t. “Does Raelle know?”

Anacostia paused. “No. But she’ll find out soon enough when we cancel your classes.”

Scylla’s chest twinged as she wondered if Raelle would even care that she was gone. Not that it would change anything even if she did. 

They reached the side entrance of the officers’ quarters, and Anacostia turned toward Scylla. “How are things?”

“With Raelle?”

“With anything.”

“You’re full of questions tonight,” Scylla teased. 

Anacostia only blinked at her.

“It is what it is,” Scylla said because there wasn’t much else to say. “I have my mission. That’s enough. Izadora should have a promising update for you tonight.”

Anacostia’s lips parted, as if she had more to add, but instead she nodded and held the door open for Scylla, who paused before she crossed the threshold.

“Would you do me a favor?” She asked.

“I make no promises.”

“Fair enough.” It was a long shot, Scylla knew, but she had to try. Despite her many issues with Willa and Raelle, she felt she owed them at least this much. In case the worst happened. “Could you,” she took a deep breath, “talk to Raelle about Willa?”

Anacostia stiffened, grip tightening on the door. “Why?”

“Because our moms can’t come back from the dead, but hers did.” Scylla’s lips trembled slightly as she attempted a smile. “I know she’s hurt. Angry. And maybe Willa doesn’t deserve forgiveness.”  _ Maybe I don’t either.  _ She shrugged. “I don’t know. But Raelle could at least hear her out. Before it’s too late.”

Anacostia exhaled forcefully, tension evident in the rigid way she held herself, spine straight. “I’ll...see what I can do.”

“Thank you,” Scylla said, genuinely grateful.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Anacostia muttered.

Schooling her features once again, Scylla sucked in a deep breath as she turned to leave. “Wish me luck.“ 

She was out of earshot when Anacostia finally responded with a whispered, “Good luck.” And was long gone by the time Anacostia let go of the door, flicked open a lighter, and raised the flame to her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're heading into the halfway point of this story! Thanks to everyone for sticking with it. Next update might be delayed a bit because I'm trying to put something together for Motherland Fort Salem Week and I find I have a hard time multitasking with fic. I'll try my best to get both done on time, but I make no promises. Hope you enjoyed the chapter!


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